


Shame

by Paper_Crane_Song



Series: Latency [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Episode: s02e08 The Communicator, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: Missing scene for the episodeThe Communicator.Malcolm experiences post-trauma reaction
Relationships: Jonathan Archer & Malcolm Reed
Series: Latency [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672780
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44
Collections: Reed's Armory Collection





	Shame

**Author's Note:**

> In the cell, Malcolm tells Archer that he’s not afraid, but in the next scene as they await their execution he seems to have a kind of contained terror about him, which from a writing point of view I thought would be interesting to try and capture... Also, I don’t think that anyone is immune to the feelings that accompany trauma, nor its after-effects.
> 
> The story takes place after Malcolm says, _“I'm expecting a rescue party to come barging through that door. Any moment.”_
> 
> Thanks for reading. Your thoughts are most welcome.

He lies on the bunk, arms pillowing his head. He is aware the Captain is watching him, and he is determined to act in a way that will not add to the burden of guilt he knows the Captain is feeling. So this apparent posture of acceptance serves to trap his hands so he cannot wring them, grounds his feet so he cannot pace, and locks his eyes so he cannot search for a way out. Because there is no way out. 

He thinks of the rescue which is surely imminent, and how Trip would be proud of his optimism. He thinks of Enterprise and then of movie night, held the evening before last. It was a horror film, allegedly, and to relieve the tedium of the final act he and Trip had contrived to scare Hoshi. She had squealed and swatted at them, reacting in much the same way that Madeleine had when he’d teased her as a boy.

The memory of that night seems incredible, almost surreal, and he is unable to reconcile the warmth and laughter with this present. 

He told the Captain that he was not afraid to die, but somehow this quiet waiting makes it worse. There are no distractions; no imploding hull, no bottle of bourbon, no Romulan mine. Is it any wonder then that adrenaline is thrumming through his body, that he can feel himself beginning to shake? 

When he hears the key turn in the lock, his first thought is that it is Enterprise come to save them, and he jerks his head up, a thrill of excitement - and then a voice says, “on your feet,” and the disappointment stuns him so that he is hardly able to stand. One of the guards hauls him up, and he is scarcely aware of them tying his hands behind his back.

* * *

They force him out into the cold night air. The first thing he sees is the gallows, and he can’t stop looking at them, he is transfixed even as they push him onwards, his legs wooden and clumsy, and he is breathing in short, shallow gaps, his heart thudding so hard and so fast against his chest that he thinks there is a genuine possibility he will expire before they have a chance to hang him. He can barely see the Captain; everything is whiting out and he tries to control his breathing. He must not faint. He must not leave the Captain alone. 

“He's my tactical officer,” he hears the Captain say, “he can tell you everything you want to know about the Alliance's troop deployments, their weapons,” and he realises that the Captain is pleading for his life. 

“Captain,” he says, his voice rusty and hoarse. He wants to say more, to tell the Captain that there is no point, that he does not mind it, that he considers it an honour to die at his Captain’s side, but he cannot say anything, because he doesn’t know how to articulate these things, and because they are lies, and because by the time his muddled brain forms any semblance of words it is too late.

“You don’t have to kill him,” the Captain implores, and despite everything a cruel spark of hope flickers into existence, until they start forcing him up the stairs towards the rope. 

As they step onto the platform he can feel the Captain’s gaze upon him, but it is all he can do to fight every instinct in his body urging him to run. Instead he holds himself straight to still the terrible shaking, and he clamps his jaw shut so he won’t make a sound as they pull the noose around his neck.

Now there is an expectant pause as the soldiers step away and the awful pressure inside his head is mounting, ready to explode, and he knows the only way he can deal with this is to start counting and hope that by the time he gets to ten he will be dead because after that the scream that has been building and building will come out - 

and then an arm materialises out of the air and he thinks that maybe he has gone mad after all, until the hum of a phase pistol, more familiar to him than his own heartbeat, jolts him back to reality and he becomes Lieutenant Malcolm Reed again, able to move and shoot and speak and even joke a little when the Captain misplaces his scanner onboard the Suliban ship - “Sir, looking for this?”

and it is only when Travis drops them at the shuttlepod and they lift off from the planet and the Captain is checking their ascent vector that he is hit by a wave of nausea, and he lurches from his seat just in time to throw up in the corner.

“Malcolm!”

“I’m all right sir,” he manages to say between chattering teeth, cringing and mortified. He is kneeling, pressing his forehead against the cool panel. He has an absurd urge to start crying. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No, sir.” He cannot say any more. 

Then somehow the Captain is next to him, covering him with a blanket. 

“Sir - “ he looks towards the helm.

“Autopilot. We’ll be good for a few minutes at least before we have to dock.”

He attempts to sit up straight but his movements are heavy, uncoordinated, and besides, the Captain’s hand is on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Here,” the Captain says, handing him a canteen of water. 

He takes a swig, grateful to hide his face which is burning with embarrassment. “I’m sorry Captain, I don’t know what came over me - “

“It’s all right, Malcolm. You don’t need to apologise.” 

He leans back against the wall, covers his eyes in the crook of his elbow. 

“I guess we’ll both have our fair share of nightmares tonight,” the Captain says, and he nods, trying to stop himself from crying. The Captain affects not to notice. 

He is grateful when the proximity sensors signal they are approaching Enterprise. The Captain guides the shuttlepod in. By the time the pod docks he has managed to make it to his seat, self-conscious, dismayed, ashamed.

As the hatch opens, he braces himself to run the gauntlet of crew members. The Captain stays close, radiating protectiveness, fielding inquiries from Trip and the others so there is little else for him to do than follow the throng to decon, and then, to sickbay. He craves the privacy of his quarters, and when the doctor finally releases them he ducks away from the Captain’s concern, Trip’s invitation to come and eat, walks away as fast as he can without breaking into a run. 

When he reaches his quarters he locks the door behind him and curls up on his bunk.

He is alone, and he is free.

_Finis_


End file.
